Worlds Of Ash: Chapter Three

During the drive home, Poppa Henry took charge.  He entertained everyone with details of his last trip, one which hadn’t taken him to Alaska or anywhere else in the entire United States.  Instead, he’d gone overseas yet again�"back into France, but also England, with a brief stopover in Spain, before he’d spent quite a long while in Rome�"just, “looking about,” as he put it.

When pressed for more, Poppa Henry only shrugged.  Still, Ash was sure she caught something.  He may have been coughing whenever he paused for a breath, but his eyes also danced with a great and vibrant energy, and there was a smile along each word he spoke.  It was as if what he’d seen had been worth everything he’d given to look upon it.

“But, dad,” Steven said.  He slowly brought their car to a stop in front of the large, two-story, white house that Ash had lived in all her life.  “You told me you were working, and if that wasn’t the case, what where you doing?”

“Just looking about,” Poppa Henry kept smiling.  He unbuckled his seat belt too, and peered over at Ash and Peter who rewarded him with their own smiles.  What he was talking about wasn’t anything dealing with Penthya, but Ash was sure that neither she nor her brother would ever say it wasn’t amazing.

“Dad,” Steven moaned.  Poppa Henry opened the passenger side of the car and stepped out onto a gravel drive.  “You have to give me more.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Alright, well, at least sit back down.  I’m just dropping off the kids.  We’re out of here after that.”

But Poppa Henry shook his head.  “I’m not too far gone yet,” he grumbled.  “I can see my grandkids inside.  Besides, I like that house.  Reminds me of where you were born.”

Instantly, Ash saw how a line of worry began to spread over her father’s face.  “Dad,” he finally said.  But he also spoke slowly, as if he needed to make sure he didn’t stumble over any word.  “I was born in a hospital in New York, a sooty gray one.  You know that, right?”

“Oh, never mind,” Poppa Henry sighed.  “Just hurry up and get the kids inside!”

And that was that.  Poppa Henry was still frustrated, still the same old blustery he’d always been and Ash, and Peter, and even their father, let all worries vanish as they did as he’d asked.  They hurried after.

But inside, he was the one to take it slow.  Poppa Henry walked over every inch of the house as he carefully inspected each room.  He even spent a good couple minutes at each mirror and shiny surface�"windows and glass cabinets were not ignored in the slightest�"that he found.  It was rather odd, but he couldn’t be deterred.  He just had to touch one more thing that was reflective and, with him otherwise occupied, Ash and Peter had plenty of time to listen to their father as he let them know that their mother�"yet again�"would be working late.  Probably not getting in till well after ten, possibly eleven.

Their father even set out a few snacks and gave the usual lecture that all homework needed to be finished before any television could be enjoyed, even though such words were pointless.  Peter had obviously already done his homework back at school, while Ash couldn’t stand it if homework hung over her no matter what amazing thing might be on.  Still, their father spent an hour making sure they were settled, and the whole-time Poppa Henry kept mumbling, “Not yet, need to check that mirror and window in the bathroom, see if they’re okay,” as he waved off any attempt to speed things along.

Such delay meant their father finally reached a point where he had nothing else to say, Ash and Peter only watching in shock as he began to stammer such defeat.  It was a nice and repeated, “I guess…I mean I could…but, no…already said that,” something their father stumbled over at least five times before he slipped into silence only to then check�"and then recheck�"the programmed numbers on a cell phone he let Ash and Peter use whenever they were home alone.

Unlike most of the kids at their school, Ash and Peter didn’t have their own personal cells. They also weren’t yet allowed to relax in front of a laptop without some parental figure annoyingly at the ready�"their mother and father just waiting to give an okay, or a firm no�"whenever some new website needed to be vetted.

It was so sad.  Everyone knew Peter could break through any password encrypted blockade with ease�"he could have even erased any trace of what he’d been up to�"but he never did.  He was too good, too trained, and though Ash could have worked hard and hacked her way past anything as well, she could never erase her footsteps like her brother could.

All she and Peter could do then was to enjoy whatever their parents allowed them to have, in this case it just happened to be a small red cellphone that could barely text.  Ash was even sure it only had enough minutes for a few quick conversations�"perhaps one long talk if that was absolutely necessary.

However, and long before her father left for the hospital, that red cell did find a way to become a source of amusement for almost everyone in the house.  Not only did Ash and Peter get to enjoy how their father checked�"and then rechecked�"that thing, but they also delighted in how he struggled with the unfamiliar feel of what he held.  He even let a few mumbled curses slip past his lips, Ash and Peter doing their best not to roll with laughter before he was sure every number was where it needed to be.

But with that done, and with all lectures eloquently said and repeated about three times, their father finally dropped what he held onto a small desk that was set up against a corner of the kitchen.  He placed the red cell right next to a tiny blue-framed, and very circular, mirror.  It was something that had been given to him at his wedding, a gift from Poppa Henry that hardly ever got used but was never all that far away.  Most often, that blue mirror was in the kitchen or in the living room, always in some corner, yet also placed just well enough so anyone could turn quick and make sure it was okay.

“Seriously, dad, we need to go,” Steven said.  Poppa Henry was moving about somewhere upstairs, his heavy and plodding footsteps heard by Ash and everyone else as he�"at last�"made his way to them.

“All right, all right,” Poppa Henry bellowed, “let’s go!”

And just like that, they left.  Poppa Henry waved goodbye as he exited out the front door, and Ash and Peter gave yet another smile when their father said they wouldn’t be too long, but that had been over five hours ago.  Ash had already long since finished with her homework.  She’d even followed her father’s attitude of making sure everything was perfect, and had already checked and rechecked each problem she’d had before she’d gone back over an essay for English, and then had still had enough time to move on to other things�"watching just a bit of TV, and now closing-up the comics.

Erasing any evidence of how she was cheating with the paper was something she could accomplish all on her own, and though doing such mischief could sometimes be fun, tonight Ash only felt upset.  Was five hours a good thing, or was it bad?

“You think Poppa Henry is okay?”  She looked over to where Peter sat.

They were in their dining room, a large and wide place with hard oak wood floors and a shiny glass and wood cabinet that stood against a rear wall.  It was a room with enough space to easily accommodate the one huge table that sat at its center, something which could fit up to ten people rather comfortably, yet normally it held just four on the occasions�"though they were becoming quite rare�"when the whole family gathered to eat.

It was here that Ash and her brother had been sitting for way too long, the oak wood chairs that had been set around that one huge table�"to maybe match with the oak wood floor below�"not the most comfortable place to wait out the night.  Still, and just off to the side of them both, a clock did hang over a doorway with no door and that was nice.  That doorless doorway was even the entrance into their kitchen, the clock above just this easy touch of reassurance, something anyone could look at if ever they needed to make sure that enough time�"with homework…or with the comics…or maybe with a not-so-great family dinner�"had already taken place.

“You asked that an hour ago,” Peter said.  He refused to take his eyes off yet another epic novel he was reading.  He’d always been able to know time better than Ash.  Even without looking, he was probably correct.

“Well, who cares,” Ash said.  “He was coughing at school, and in the car, and…well…I was...I’m worried, okay.”

Her brother finally looked up, his small yet sharp white face, and his thick black glasses, making him look like nothing more than a walking cliché.  He was a dork�"and oh how she could hate him�"but he was also her brother.  Like her Poppa Henry had said, she couldn’t forget how much he had hold of her heart.

Peter shook his head, his wild brown hair falling over his glasses as he closed his book and pushed it aside.  “How about we don’t indulge our darkest fears,” he began.  He brushed hair from his brow as Ash followed his lead.  She put the comics down and slid them far.  “You’re always so stressed about everything, but let’s just forget the bad that could happen.  A few coughs don’t necessarily mean�"”

“No,” Ash said, “not tonight.”

“What?”

“Stop acting big,” Ash smiled, “and don’t tell your older sister to relax.  Just…he might be sick and…freak out with me!”

Peter smiled too.  “Okay.  I did hear the cough, and you’re right, it didn’t sound good.  But he said he was fine and, besides, the way he was complaining and marching over the house it…well, honestly, how sick could he be if he’s still acting all Poppa Henry normal?”

“Yeah,” Ash sighed, “but how about how slowly he moved getting out of the car?  And his skin, it was so pale.”

“I know, but he really was rude and direct with dad like always and…and I mean…if he’s still acting exactly like he’s always acted then I can’t believe he’s that sick.  It doesn’t seem possible.”

Peter raised an eyebrow as if he’d made a valued and irrefutable point.  It was a common gesture he used whenever he thought he’d reached a conclusion no one could argue against, and Ash’s love wavered.  He was back to acting all big.  Maybe this was how she could forget how much she should care for him.

“I told you to stop,” she said as she pointed at his forehead.  “Poppa Henry might be ill, and you don’t want to face it!”

Peter brought up some fingers and touched his eyebrow.  He seemed genuinely surprised over what it was doing.

“And you want to admit he’s sick,” he said after a good two minutes where he tried in vain to make his body go normal.  “You really want to admit that?”

“I…” Ash started.  Maybe Peter was right.  Maybe not thinking about it was better.  “I don’t know.  I’m just worried.”

“Well, don’t be,” Peter sighed as he scooped up the comics.  He even threw them under the table before turning to point, but instead of leveling anything at Ash, he aimed a finger towards a window on the other side of where they both sat.  He pointed out onto their front lawn, the main road beyond barely visible off in the distance.  “Maybe that’s dad now.”

Ash stared into thickening darkness, there really were some headlights leaving the main road and coming up their drive.  But as the headlights got closer, both she and Peter saw it wasn’t the car they’d been hoping for.  Instead of their father and grandfather, it was their mother who was flying their way.  She parked in a hurry before she ran towards the house.

“Thanks,” Ash said.

She looked at the tucked away comics�"her love for Peter returning with startling speed.  He’d saved her.

“Not a problem.” Peter nodded.  Their mother was almost at their front door.  “You think she’s happy she’s home at a decent hour?”

Ash frowned.  Ever since their mother had started working, both she and Peter had gained a level of frustration over how their lives had so suddenly changed.  Instead of their mother picking them up right after school ended, ushering them on home and then getting dinner started as either homework got quickly done�"that would be what Peter liked to do�"or an in-depth chat about the day would begin (that was Ash’s preferred thing) their mother would now only pick them up during some lull in her hectic schedule, some odd yet safe hour where taking off wouldn’t be a hardship.  Long after most kids were already at home with school only a distant memory, their mother would hustle them into their house and maybe would stop and talk, or maybe would help with some project, but, more often, she now would only keep silent as she busied herself with other things.  A quick setting out of some snacks was a definite go to, or a kiss on the cheek might be given, before she’d be off yet again.

Ash sighed as the front door began to swing wide and her mother’s slender legs appeared, shoe first, then ankle, then the rest of perfection followed by the beginnings of a nice business skirt and business shirt attire that Ash already knew she would never wear.  Even if she tried real hard, she couldn’t imagine looking half as good in those clothes.

She sighed again.  She really was frustrated, and so was Peter, yet Ash still couldn’t help but to feel as if their mother was doing something good.  It made Ash want to defend her no matter how much she also hated the career clothes her mother now wore.

“This is her chance,” Ash said.  “Why did she get her degree, and her Masters, if she didn’t want to use them?”

“I know, I know,” Peter said, “and somehow, she is doing both, being here with us when she can, working all the time as she dreamed, I just�"”

“I know,” Ash began to whisper.  The front door was only a few feet away since it lay through the living room and one small hall that were both connected to the dining room by more doorless doorways.  She had to be quiet.  “I miss her too.”

“Miss who,” Rachel asked.

Of course, her mother had heard.  She had already closed the front door only to then rush on over.  Ash’s quiet had been for nothing.

“Just Grandma Ash,” Peter said.  He was covering for her again.  Maybe that even meant he was going to start saving her all the time.

Rachel leaned over to ruffle Peter’s hair.  She even kissed him on the forehead, and gave him a quick hug, before she stood back up straight so she could walk over to Ash.

Ash sighed one last time.  As her mother began to hug her tight, it just slipped on out.  But this time such a sigh had nothing to do with her mother’s job, or how she hardly was at home anymore.  No, this time everything was about beauty, about how Ash may have gotten some of her mother’s beauty�"the streaks of red in her brown hair were from her mother for sure�"but that was about it.  She really hadn’t gotten as much as what her mother had been blessed with.

Seriously, her mother’s nice six-foot-tall and athletic frame made her look years younger than her actual age of forty.  She even had flawless skin�"the softest white perfect that had yet to be marred by the slightest scar or wrinkle�"while her green eyes seemed to shimmer in just the right light.  It almost always caused her to be the epicenter of some kind of attention.

Yet, and as she finally ended her hug and stepped away, Ash couldn’t help but to also see how that night her mother had changed.  She wasn’t just her normal beautiful, she was stunning.  There was something in her emerald eyes, a giddy that made things radiate beyond shimmer as she reached pure shine.  She looked beyond happy.

“You are a strangeness, my son,” Rachel said as she stared back over at Peter.  “You never met your father’s mother.  Grandma Ash was dead long before you arrived.”

Peter smiled.  “Which makes missing her significant, I don’t even know what she was like.”

“Well,” Rachel said, “she was an odd woman, kind of distant, and she looked nothing like your father.  His brown hair definitely came from his dad because she was a blond, a frosty blond whose hair seemed more white than yellow in the right light.”

Ash took note of how her mother paused, her voice fading as she let herself get lost in some thoughts from long ago.  The glow in her eyes began to fade too.  Whatever it was that had made her shine was starting to dim as she remembered something sad.

“I knew her for only a little while,” Rachel said.  She was still staring only at Peter.  “She died when your father and I were first dating.  I can’t tell you what you might have missed.”

“Well, you hardly ever talk about her,” Peter said, “why is that?”

“Hardly,” Rachel mused, “I guess that is weird.  I suppose I just follow your father’s lead.  He loved his mother, but as it is with Poppa Henry, he had issues.  Issues he never got a chance to resolve when she passed.  Speaking of, where is your dad?  Don’t tell me he hasn’t come back yet?”

“He’s…” Ash quickly said.  For some reason, she had a deep urge to get some of her mother’s attention focused back her way.  “We think he’s still at the hospital.”

She somewhat succeeded.  Her mother turned towards her.

“But,” Rachel began.  “But he said…when I called to ask if he could pick you up, he said it was only a cold.”

Peter nodded.  “Yeah, he told us that too.  But we’re worried.”

Ash shot him a scathing look.  He was making it sound as if he’d been the only one to feel that way.

“Actually,” Peter said.  He shrugged his shoulders in apology.  “Ash was worried.  They’ve been gone for hours.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll call him,” Rachel sighed.

She’d rushed into the house in such a hurry that Ash just hadn’t yet noticed: Her mother’s purse was nowhere to be seen.  Inside that large black leather satchel, her mother had her own cell phone, an assortment of make-up; she had thousands of items, a hairbrush, some gum, loose change, she had everything she could ever need.  For her to have forgotten that was the oddest thing of all.

“Mom,” Ash said.  Her mother stared up.

She was already in the kitchen, that red cell phone already picked up and held at her ear.  “What is it,” Rachel asked.  “Your father is about to answer.”

That momentary shine�"and now this touch of an absent mind�"it made Ash certain of her next few words.  She had to know.  “Why were you so happy?”

“What?”

“A second ago, you came in here all giddy, why?”

“Oh, that,” Rachel sighed as Ash and Peter heard the softest, “I…um…hey, Rach,” as their father picked up.  “It was nothing.  I’ll tell you later.”

The conversation moved on.  Ash caught a quick “What do you mean?” and then, “I don’t understand,” but her mother walked further from the dining room and suddenly Ash could hear no more.  She had to get closer, and Peter must have felt the same.  As soon as she took a step so did he.  They both headed for that doorway with no door.

“Steven, I’m so sorry.”  Was her mother crying?  Why was she crying?  “I didn’t,” Rachel continued, and now it was for certain.  Her mother was actually starting to sob quite hard.  “No, my call wasn’t from a strange feeling, only an accident.  I just got home, and the kids told me you were still out.  Just five minutes ago.  How did…it just…it doesn’t make sense.  Do the doctors know?  No, no, of course I think they should come.  They’re not that young, and they’ll want to be with you.  I do too.  I really do.  Steven, I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly, Ash had an insane urge to walk away as fast as she could.  She knew her mother would soon hang up.  She even knew her mother would sob one more time before she turned and told the whole house all about something she’d just learned.  But Ash didn’t want that.  She wanted to go, maybe even run so she could flee even faster, just sprint her way outside only to keep on going before she heard a single word.

Her mother turned.  “Poppa Henry,” she said.  She was so quick, there was no way Ash could have escaped this.  “Poppa Henry is dead.”